


Scandalwood Tales: No Peace in the Bar

by Anonymous



Series: Scandalwood: Tales of Dick Booping, PI [1]
Category: Fail_Fandomanon RPF
Genre: Boop noir, Detective Noir, Jealousy, Love/Hate, M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Pining, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick has a lot on his mind in the aftermath of working with Pink Whitecock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandalwood Tales: No Peace in the Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a discussion on Fail_Fandomanon about a possible antagonist/love interest for the community's beloved Dick Booping. And the title comes from another nonnie's title suggestion.

The whiskey tasted watered down, his shoes stuck to the scummy floor, and the man in the seat next to him was sleeping on the bar. But this is exactly where Dick wanted to be right now. Here in this dimly lit smoke filled run-down bar among the bar flies, hustlers and the lost.

The late night weighed on his bones and soul. That and the past few days spent on a rotten miserable case full of losers and crap. No winners there he guessed. The whiskey burned his throat as he downed his drink. He needed another stat.

He studied the blood from the case-ending fight caked in his fingernails and between his fingers. Some sad-sack shlub lost his life over trying to blackmail this Eurotrash millionaire. Who had nothing to be blackmailed over since his life was lived in tabloids all over the world. Long hardened to the misery people got themselves into, Dick still shuddered thinking about the details of his client’s personal life. 

Nothing ever good came from working with Whitecock. Nothing. He could replay the call that started it all over and over in his head and still wonder what it was in that precise accented voice that got him to do things against his better judgment.

He rubbed his unshaven jaw and passed the whiskey glass back and forth between his hands. He lifted his glass in mock toast to never working with that piece of work Whitecock again.

“Booping?” Whitecock asked, behind him. “Your assistant said you might be here.”

Dick nearly jumped out of his skin when Whitecock put his manicured hand on his shoulder. He’d have to have a serious conversation with Lotta Curves about giving up his bolt holes. “What do you want, Lord Whitecock?” he sneered.

The man, impeccably dressed in a designer suit, striped tie and perfect pocket square, grimaced as he wiped off the stool next to Dick. He sat down and ordered a cocktail. The bartender exchanged an exasperated look with Dick, who shrugged.

“You might be better off with beer,” Dick suggested.

“Fine,” Whitecock hissed. “Barkeep, a pint of whatever you have on tap.”

“So why are you here?”

“To thank you for your help, Booping. As much as I hate to admit it, you were a big help to me and my client in resolving our little problem.”

“Your client –“

“I know, he is not one of our most upstanding citizens. But even our morally troubled members of society deserve protection from the criminal element. Wouldn’t you say?”

Dick hated Whitecock with the power of ten burning suns. He hated his perfectly styled blond hair, his white teeth, his well-trimmed beard, his piercing blue eyes, his ramrod straight posture and his warm pink skin. He wondered why Whitecock left his beautiful client with slim waist, flashing brown eyes, and model looks lying naked and thoroughly debauched back in their hotel room to slum it up with him. Whitecock was going to ask for a favor or worse. He had Whitecock’s number.

“Booping, I’ve known you a couple of years now and I know you could do better …” His voice trailed off.

“Seriously, Pink, why are you here?” Dick said. He knew that Whitecock hated the mention of his Christian name, Pinkbottom. What a shame that Whitecock inherited a family name like that to go along with the massive fortune, mansion and title. Money could only make up for so much in life. He ran his hand through his thick unruly brown hair.

Whitecock sighed and got up, not even finishing his beer. “I don’t know why I even try.”

“Try what?” God, Dick wanted to punch his face. Or drag him into the garbage filled back alley and shove him against the dirty wall. Kiss him into oblivion. Rip open his tailored pants and give him the ride of his life. Make him know what Dick could give him that none of those models and pretty boys could.

Whitecock put his hand again on Dick’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m on your side. I wish you’d remember that, Dickie.” He tossed a check on the bar. “Here’s your payment.”

Dick picked up the slip of paper, glanced at the numbers to see he was getting paid more than the agreed upon price, and tucked into his pants pocket. “Going back to meet the client?” he snarled.

“We’re leaving for England in the morning, yes.” 

“Great,” Dick spat out. He hated everything and everyone as jealousy roiled through his body.

Sadness and regret flashed over Whitecock’s face before he schooled his emotions. “As ever, Booping, it was a pleasure working with you.”

Dick sighed. “Yeah, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

He watched Whitecock walk out the door and back to his charmed beautiful life, leaving Dick in the ruins and filth around him. Damn, he knew that he’d come running like a lap dog the next time Whitecock called.


End file.
